What is a man,If his chief good and market of his timeBe but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.Sure he that made us with such large discourse,Looking before and after, gave us notThat capability and godlike reasonTo fust in us unused. Now, whether it beBestial oblivion, or some craven scrupleOf thinking too precisely on th' event—A thought which, quartered, hath but one part wisdomAnd ever three parts coward—I do not knowWhy yet I live to say "This thing's to do,"Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and meansTo do 't. Examples gross as earth exhort me: